


The Personal Journal of Dr. John H Watson

by astudyincheekbones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cute, Detectives, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Funny, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson's Blog, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Possessive John, Possessive Sherlock, Sexual Humor, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyincheekbones/pseuds/astudyincheekbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Sherlock Mildly Resembled a Flamingo

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
> Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
> Word Count: 762 Rating: M to be safe. Warnings for language and adult themes.  
> Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.
> 
> a/n: just a little collection of one-shot ficlets about our favorite crime solving duo.

When Sherlock Mildly Resembled a Flamingo

"Sherlock? Sherlock dear?" Ms. Hudson shouted from the kitchen.

"Oh Sherlock, what have you done to your kitchen table!" she continued, staring sadly at the now ruined table in question.

"Can't explain now Ms. Hudson, for the game is on!" was all the explanation Ms. Hudson got out of Sherlock before he grabbed his coat and scarf and raced out the door.

"John dear, really?" she continued.

John looked at the broken table, then back to Ms. Hudson and began to blush.

"Long story Ms. Hudson," was all he muttered before exiting the flat, running after Sherlock.

Upon arriving at the scene of the crime, Sherlock popped his collar and walked over to Lestrade.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's never ending attempt to look mysterious before realizing how awkwardly Sherlock was walking.

He was limping.

"What do we know?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, fishing in his coat pockets for his magnifying glass.

"Hello to you to Sherlock," Lestrade griped, noting the funny way Sherlock was walking. He dismissed the thought, however, as John walked up to the pair.

"Afternoon Lestrade," he greeted.

"You too, Dr. Watson."

"Uggh," Sherlock groaned, "You lot really are useless, exchanging pleasantries when there is a case to be solved!"

With that Sherlock turned on his heels and awkwardly limped away, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape.

John noticed Lestrade staring questioningly at Sherlock, and knew he had to interrupt before Lestrade said anything.

"Ahem," John muttered.

"Ah, yes, um a man was murdered here around midnight last night," Lestrade began, "35 years old, 6'2, goes by the name Michael Taytum."

Lestrade continued to describe the case, but John had already tuned out, releasing an internal sigh of relief. Relieved that Lestrade hadn't pushed the state of Sherlock's saunter any further.

Once Lestrade believed he brought John up to date, the two ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, and walked over to what was quite the spectacle.

They walked over to the scene to find all of the Yarders standing around in a semicircle, failing to fully stifle their giggles.

At first, John was slightly annoyed because, damn it people, you can't giggle at a crime scene. That was when he realized what exactly they were giggling at.

Regretfully, his eyes cast downward to find Sherlock examining every inch of the corpse with his magnifying glass. Only, he couldn't quite assume the crouching position needed, but instead stooped down on his right leg, and kept his left extended and elevated in the air, not wanting to bear weight on it.

Thinking back on it, he somewhat resembled a crippled flamingo.

Sherlock scurried left and right around the body examining, then flamingo limping, examining, then limping.

It really was a sad sight.

John just shut his eyes very tight, and hoped no one would notice his partners' odd behavior.

Just then, John heard a clearing of a throat and winced.

"Ahem," Anderson chuckled.

"Of course it would be you" John seethed under his breath.

"Hey freak, are you alright?" he questioned.

Not looking up from his magnifying glass, Sherlock casually replied, "John broke the kitchen table while fucking me on it, and I sustained an injury to my leg."

A beat passed.

Every person at the scene slowly turned to look at John, mouths agape and faces in shock.

Johns face flushed crimson and he began to resemble that of a flustered tomato.

"Ah, um, excuse me" John managed to mumble, before spinning on his heel and almost running away from the scene.

A beat passed.

Every person at the scene now turned back slowly in Sherlock's direction to find him now standing up, dusting off his clothing.

"You're looking for a private caterer, mid-forties," Sherlock announced, tucking his magnifying glass deep into his coat pocket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, John and I need to take a trip to Ikea."

With that, Sherlock popped his collar, tightened his scarf, and limped back under the yellow crime scene tape and out of sight.

"Freak," Sally finally broke the silence among the Yarders.

"Disgusting," added Anderson

"But I-"began the new member of the squad, "I didn't even know they were a-an item" his voice cracking mid-sentence.

Lestrade let out a sigh, and wrapped a reassuring arm around the new guys' shoulders.

"I was going t-to ask him ou-"he fumbled over his words before Lestrade interrupted him.

"Jake, was it?" Lestrade asked.

"Mhm," he croaked, looking up to meet Lestrade's gaze.

"You didn't stand a chance"

Lestrade patted Jake on the back, and set off to start the paperwork.


	2. Of Shock and a Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
> Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
> Word Count: 873 Rating: T  
> Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Read and Review! And please, leave me prompt ideas! Thanks a million!

Of Shock and a Blanket

Once again, Sherlock came to, only to find himself engulfed in that fuzzy, orange blanket.

Sherlock hates this blanket, fervently, knowing that it in itself is a sign of weakness and distress. Sherlock Holmes is neither of the above. Yet this time, much to his disbelief, he finds himself pulling it tighter around his wounded body.

"Look who has come to" a soft voice began. "It's about time"

Sherlock slowly began to sit up, still registering what has happened.

"No, no, no, you stay down; I'm going to go fetch the nurse."

Sherlock, complied, and lied back down without a fight.

John always thought Sherlock looked his cutest when disgruntled, as he is now. He began to giggle, when he realized that Sherlock was, for the first time, really embracing the loud, orange blanket.

He leaned down and gently brushed the hair out of Sherlock's eyes. He planted a tender kiss to his forehead, and then got up to find the nurse.

The cab ride home was a silent one.

Sherlock still clutched the blanket with an iron grip. He refused to let it leave his shoulders. John simply held his love, whom he realized was experiencing true shock for the first time. They simply stared out of the windows, watching London go by at 45 miles an hour.

Upon arrival at 221B, John managed to get Sherlock upstairs to the bed that they finally shared. He sat Sherlock down at the foot of the bed, and began to take off his clothes.

First his shoes, then his socks. Then his belt, his trousers, and wristwatch. He reached to remove the blanket only to be met with a white knuckled grip around his wrist.

"No," Sherlock whispered, his eyes frightened like that of a young boy who can't find his way home.

John let out a sigh.

"It's okay love, I'm right here" John assured, again reaching for the blanket. "I'll put it right back on, but I have to get you out of these clothes."

Sherlock nodded in understanding, but visibly tensed once the blanket was removed. John then set to work, wiggling Sherlock's arms out of his coat. Coat now gone, he began to unbutton his shirt. He then, replaced the blanket across Sherlock's shoulders and sat back on his haunches.

He took Sherlock's hand and gripped it tightly, trying to reassure his love that everything was okay now. John shut his eyes tightly, kissed the back of Sherlock's hand, and stood up, pulling Sherlock up with him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Hand in hand, the two walked to the bathroom. John sat Sherlock down on the seat of the toilet as he turned on the shower.

"Sherlock?" John asked, still adjusting the water to the right temperature.

No response

"Sherlock love?"

No response

"Sherlock, can you take your pants off, I need you to shower."

And still, Sherlock would not reply.

He looked broken, staring blankly at a pair of forgotten trousers sitting atop the hamper.

John didn't know what to do. He never thought the day would come where Sherlock Holmes went into shock. He didn't know what to do.

So he did what he knew how. He took care of Sherlock.

John stood him up, and pulled him into a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into his partners' bare chest. He rubbed circles in Sherlock's back and planted a soft kiss to his sternum.

He then pulled Sherlock's pants down, and coaxed them from around his ankles.

He led them both into the shower, himself still fully dressed, and Sherlock still wrapped in his blanket.

He continued to bathe Sherlock painstakingly gently, constantly whispering sweet nothings of reassurance in his ear.

John bathed every inch of Sherlock, refusing to miss anything. Only removing the blanket once to wash Sherlock's back and shoulders. It was his way of wanting to wash the hurt off of Sherlock. He wanted his love cleansed of everything that happened earlier that day.

Once he was satisfied Sherlock was clean he turned the water off, and grabbed a towel from the rack.

Tentatively, he reached for the blanket. Much to his surprise, Sherlock allowed him to peel away the soaking wet fabric.

This made John very happy, as he hoped that this meant that his Sherlock was slowly coming back to him.

Tossing the blanket aside, he dried Sherlock off, the fibrous bristles of the towel absorbing all the water from his body.

John then stripped himself of his soaking clothing, and dried off too.

He fished a pair of clean pajamas out of the drawer, and began to dress Sherlock, then himself.

John pulled back the duvet on their bed, and motioned for Sherlock to lie down. He did, and John tucked him in. He hurried around to his side of the bed and quickly got under the covers.

He wrapped a protective arm around Sherlock and pulled him close.

John kissed the back of Sherlock's neck.

"Goodnight love," he whispered.

Recognizing that he wasn't going to get a response tonight, John let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

"John?" he heard, some minutes later.

"Mmm, yes love?" he replied groggily.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock."


	3. Safety Violations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
> Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
> Word Count: 1,267 Rating: T  
> Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a two-shot, okay?

Safety Violations.

"Do you want me to die John?" Sherlock questioned.

It was a relatively warm night in Santa Monica. 'A beautiful day to spend at the beach' is how John described it. Having a case that brought them all the way to America was quite the rarity, and to the California coastline? John was simply ecstatic.

Sherlock, however, didn't see the change in venues as all that great. He was on a case. That is all. Strictly work. He didn't see the point in such childish things as going to the pier. Even if the case was solved, and they still had the hotel room for another night.

John shifted his weight between feet and let out an irritated sigh.

"You are not going to die, Sherlock" he groaned.

Sherlock stared back at his partner incredulously. John ran sweaty fingers through his hair.

"I suppose you're going to attempt to prove me wrong now?" John asked.

" 2007, Universal Orlando, a 68-year-old woman fractured both legs and arms while exiting the ride vehicle of Peter Pans flight. 2006, Islands of Adventure, a 14-year-old girl broke her arm on the Camp Jurassic climbing nets. 2008, Walt Dis-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait, what?" John exclaimed. "How do you even know-"

"It doesn't matter how I know, John." Sherlock interrupted. "What matters is that all these people were severely injured on well-established, supposedly 'safe' theme park rides. And you want me to waltz on over and buckle myself into this death trap of a safety violation?!"

John looked at Sherlock intently, both men refusing to blink.

"Is this why you didn't come to bed last night?" John asked, a smile creeping onto his round features.

Sherlock stood remarkably still.

"Oh my god, Sherlock. You stayed up all night researching this so that you could try and find an excuse not to ride the rollercoaster!" John chuckled in delight.

"No I spent last night looking up the last time this pier had a safety inspection, which by the way, I doubt was thorough." he seethed.

John's chuckle turned into a full out guffaw of laughter, now drawing the attention of some amused passerbys.

"What?" Sherlock demanded, dark curls bouncing with anger.

"You're scared" John teased, pushing an accusing finger into Sherlock's chest.

"Ridiculous," he scoffed.

"You Mr. I-can-fight-off-a-Chinese-assassin-with-a-bottle-o f-spray-paint are afraid of rollercoasters." John giggled.

Sherlock took a step closer to John, and looked down at him furiously. He was met only with a glee ridden face staring back up.

A noise, somewhere mixed between a growl and nervous croak, left Sherlock's throat before he spun on his heel in the direction of the rollercoaster.

"Here we go," mumbled John before he ran to catch up with Sherlock.

The two waited in line in an uncomfortable silence.

Right before the got to the front of the line, Sherlock spoke up.

"You know it's not too late John."

"What?" he replied, "Not too late for you to chicken out?"

"No," Sherlock grumbled, "It's not too late for us to both leave this pier with our lives."

John could see the fear in Sherlock's eyes. Just sparks of it, flickering beneath the front of indifference he puts up.

John's face softened.

"You know, love, you don't have to do this. Prove anything" he whispered.

Sherlock looked relived. His shoulders sagged, just for a second before he managed to pull himself back together.

"Ahem, no, nonsense," he began, "I'm simply trying to avoid the inevitable lawsuit we will have by the end of this night."

John smiled.

"I'll take my chances."

By that time, the two were at the front of the line.

"How many in your party?" the ride attendant asked.

"Uh, two" John stated, holding up two fingers.

"Row one please" she smiled, gesturing at the large painted one on the floor next to the coaster tracks.

They stepped into place and waited for the arrival of the coaster that would, as one of them described it, escort them to their doom at 75 mph. Sherlock was always one for the dramatics.

Soon enough, the coaster came to a full and complete stop and the previous passengers made sure they had all their belongings before carefully exiting the vehicle.

It was finally their turn.

The rusty, red gates opened up before them with a creak, allowing them to step into the vehicle.

John first, then Sherlock, the two stepped into the car and sat down. As instructed, the pair raised their arms as the ride attendant came along and lowered the lap bar.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt very, very trapped.

He began to writhe and wriggle around in his seat. Beads of sweat began to pool around his brow. When the ride abruptly jerked into motion he gasped and froze in his seat.

John immediately felt terrible for forcing Sherlock onto this ride. He found Sherlock's hand under the lap restraint and held on tight.

John felt him physically relax, and he felt just a tiny bit better.

As the coaster began to roll towards that intimidating incline, they could hear the muffled traces of the automated safety announcement.

'Please keep all hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle at all times.'

Sherlock was sure there was more to it, but he couldn't hear much else over the screaming in his mind palace.

Slowly, the coaster began to rise up the incline. As the car got higher, the tighter the grip on John's hand got. As the car reached the apex of the incline John felt as though he no longer had bones in his right hand. The cart then stopped, as if for dramatic effect, dangling over the edge of the drop. He let out a deep breath and then. . .

The sounds of Sherlock's screams of terror were drowned out, for the most part, by the screams of joy from John and the rest of the enthusiastic coaster goers.

The moment the ride came into sight of the exit platform Sherlock began to frantically push up on the lap restraint.

John took the opportunity to nurse his surely broken hand.

"Calm down Sherlock, you have to wait until the ride has come to a complete stop."

"Damn, complete stops!" he shouted, flinging himself back in the seat.

The moment the ride pulled up to the exit point, and the lap bars were raised, Sherlock leapt over John and onto the platform.

He was out the door before John could get out of his seat.

John caught up with Sherlock a few minutes later. He found him sitting with his legs tucked up under him on a bench.

He felt really bad that he made Sherlock go through that, no matter how hilarious it was.

He marched up to him and planted a sloppy kiss right on his lips. For once, he really didn't care who saw.

"Come on," John said, breaking away from the kiss. "Let's go win you a giant teddy bear."

Sherlock looked genuinely relived. John was happy this didn't do a number on him. He couldn't deal with another shock episode, especially when they had a long flight tomorrow morning.

"You know, it's physically impossible for you to win those games" Sherlock stated matter of factly, standing up from the bench. "Physics, John"

John just rolled his eyes and pulled Sherlock along; happy he was back to normal.

"Oh shut up, you wanker. You ruin everything." John grinned.

Sherlock just smiled and kept walking, relieved that he in fact didn't die today. Secretly hoping that John could defy the laws of physics and win him a big teddy bear.


	4. Breaking the Laws of Physics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
> Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
> Word Count: 921 Rating: T+ just for language  
> Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Part two of Safety Violations. ENJOY!

Breaking the Laws of Physics

"John, you're just wasting your money" Sherlock stated with a sigh, absentmindedly examining his cuticles.

"Shut up, Sherlock" John groaned, turning his attention towards the overly enthusiastic lady manning the ring toss booth.

"How much for a ring ma'am?" John asked politely.

"$2.00 per ring" she chirped, "But I'll give you two for the same price!"

"Thank you, that's mighty kind of you ma'am" he replied.

"Oh please!" she exclaimed, reaching over to retrieve the small, yellow rings. Strategically placing her chest in John's immediate line of vision.

Sherlock's body stiffened as he took a protective step closer to John.

"How could I not make a deal with such a handsome fellow?" she drawled.

John felt a very tight grip around his waist, fingernails digging into his jumper.

"Ahem, yes well," John started nervously.

"Could you please stop your ridiculous attempts to hit on my boyfriend? It's simply pathetic." Sherlock stated with a false mask of sympathy plastered on his face.

Sherlock simply relished in the look on the lady's face when the realization hit. Hearing her stumble over her next few words was the highlight of his night.

He loved other people knowing that John Watson was his.

His and not theirs.

That was what he really got off on.

"I- um, yes, well here are your rings, sir" she stammered, handing John the rings while avoiding eye contact with the both of them.

Sherlock was blissful.

John hoped Sherlock wouldn't make much more of a scene. This poor girl didn't know what she had coming.

"You know John that it is impossible for you to win" Sherlock beamed, turning his attention back to John. "They rig these bottles so that they are too big for the ring to fit over."

"You're wrong sir" she seethed through gritted teeth.

'Oh boy' thought John.

"Oh am I?" Sherlock retorted.

"You certainly are" she began, turning to retrieve a bottle from the platform.

She picked up a spare ring and dropped it onto the neck of the bottle in spite. It fit perfectly.

"Happy?" she spat sarcastically.

"Ecstatic" he replied.

Satisfied that she had proved her point, she replaced the bottle on the platform and turned her attention back to John.

"Now, if you would like to toss the rings, we could move on-"

"Do you know what would make me even happier?" Sherlock interrupted, the size of the grin on his face slightly revealing his multiple chins.

"What?" the lady replied, trying her hardest not to slap a bitch silly. She really couldn't lose another job.

"Could you show me another bottle?" he inquired calmly.

She faltered.

Gotcha.

"I, uh, well sir-"

"No need to fret," Sherlock said, sliding gracefully over the barricade that separated the booth from the boardwalk. "I can help with that."

"Ahh!" the lady exclaimed. "Sir, you can't do that!"

John buried his head in his hands and prayed that no one was watching.

"Why can't I?" Sherlock questioned, his brow shooting up towards his forehead. "Afraid I'll do this?"

Sherlock took the tiny yellow rings and proceeded to try and force it over the neck of a bottle that was clearly too large.

John couldn't help but begin to smile. His boyfriend was a lunatic.

"Look sir!" she screamed in a whisper, yanking Sherlock down to eye level by his scarf.

"If you put that bottle back, and keep your voice down, I will give you a damn prize!"

"Deal," he stated, clearly all too pleased with himself.

Sherlock nimbly hoped back over to the pedestrian side of the booth and planted a quick peck to John's cheek.

"You're welcome" he grinned.

John looked at Sherlock intently. He looked like a kid in a candy store, eyes brighter than the stars in the sky. John tried his hardest to look annoyed.

"Just shut up and pick a prize," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock smiled and turned his attention to the giant rack of prizes that hung over the booth.

"That one!" he shouted, pointing to a giant, tan teddy bear with a red bowtie.

"He reminds me of the Doctor John!" he squealed.

"Of course he does, Sherlock." John sighed, watching the lady scornfully retrieve the prize.

She shoved it into Sherlock's waiting arms with a lot more force than necessary. He didn't care though. He just skipped away happily with his new best friend.

John shot the lady a sympathetic look which she dismissed with a wave of her hand.

"Seems like a keeper, huh?" she exhaled.

"Yeah, suppose so" John smirked. "Have a goodnight."

"You too" she replied.

He ran and caught up to Sherlock who was in the process of straightening the bear's bowtie.

"You didn't have to do that Sherlock," John began.

"I know," he quipped. "But wasn't that a lot more fun than ring toss?"

John roughly elbowed Sherlock in the ribs.

"You are such a wanker, you know that!" he teased.

Sherlock just laughed, deep and hearty, idly stroking his prize.

"So what are you going to name him?" John asked, guiding the two of them towards the street to catch a cab.

"Sexy," Sherlock said, without missing a beat.

"Sexy? Like, the Tardis?" he asked, brow raised in question.

"No," he smiled. "Like you."

John blushed, and elbowed him in the side again.

"Oh, shut up!" he cried in delight, as the two of them made it to the main road and began to try and hail a cab large enough for them and their new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Read, Review, and as always, ENJOY


	5. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;
> 
> Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes
> 
> Word Count: 672 Rating: T+ just a tad saucy ;]
> 
> Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: 1butterfly_grl1 prompted me with 'john makes tea'. here's my spin, hope it tickles your fancy.

"ARRRRGH!" Sherlock exclaimed, violently shutting the curtains on the window.

"Hmm?" John sounded, tearing his eyes away from the instant hot chocolate dancing in circles inside the microwave.

It wasn't often that they were able to enjoy a hot cup of cocoa, but Sherlock had finally made a successful trip to and from the grocery store, with milk, so it was a time to celebrate.

It only took him five times after his row with the chip and pin machine.

"It's happening again!" he exclaimed, slumping down onto the couch, blue night gown dangling off his bare shoulders

John grabbed to cups out of the cupboard, trying his hardest to ignore the festering goat hoof in the process. He shut the door with his hip and walked back to the microwave.

"What's happening, Sherlock?"

"It. . . iT. . . IT!" he shouted, voices rising several decibels with every repetition.

"What?" John asked, his patience wearing thin, as he grabbed the whipped cream out of the fridge.

An involuntary smile crept upon his lips at old childhood memories of him and canned whipped cream.

"Just look outside," Sherlock huffed, wrapping himself in his nightgown as he pouted facing the couch.

John sighed, exasperated.

'And people think I'm the woman in this relationship.'

He walked over to the window and threw open the blinds.

And rolled his eyes.

"It's called rain, Sherlock."

"Exactly!" Sherlock yelled, climbing on top of all the furniture, making his way over to John.

"And it's driving me mad!" he added, as he hopped down off the side of his armchair.

John raised an inquisitive eyebrow, prompting Sherlock to explain himself.

"It's been raining non-stop for a week!" he began, skinny arms flailing about.

"And with it, came a dry spell!"

John began hesitantly, as if disarming a bomb.

"A dry spell in-"

"Crime Jawn! Crime!" Sherlock shouted, black curls bouncing with vengeance.

"Five days, and what? Nothing! It's like even the scum of the earth are afraid to melt in a little rain!" he said as he threw his arms up in defeat and flung himself back over the couch.

Sherlock shifted when he felt a warm body plop down next to his feet.

"Well, if the criminals are taking a few days off, then that means you can too," John smiled, rubbing circles in Sherlock's back.

"Yes, I suppose it was nice at first," he began, sitting up straight to look John in the eyes, "But now I'm bored. And it feels like I'm imprisoned in my own house with nothing to do and no one to talk to but-"

Sherlock stopped short of finishing that sentence as he was met with John's, 'don't you test me Sherlock Holmes' eyes.

John had been making those eyes all too often recently.

Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm sorry, John."

John couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't often someone was blessed enough to hear sincerity leave those gorgeous, thin lips.

"It's okay," he smiled, "Want some hot chocolate?"

"That would be marvelous."

"Okay," John replied, standing up and patting Sherlock's chest as he does all the time.

Only this time, he didn't account for the long forgotten whipped cream can still tight within his grasp.

The tip of the can crashed into Sherlock's chest, spurting the white, puffy topping all over him.

He gasped at the sudden cold.

"Oh my gosh, Sherlock, I am so sorry!" John exclaimed, reaching to wipe it off.

Sherlock caught John's hand half-way to his chest.

"Sherlock, what are you doing, let me help you?"

Sherlock didn't reply, he only grabbed the can from John's hand and proceeded to spurt two, white dollops onto his nipples.

He smirked.

"Now clean it," he said, letting go of John's hands, "but, do me a favor, and don't use your hands."

Sherlock smiled deviously as he watched the red flush John's cheeks in a matter of seconds.

And from then on, that was how most rainy days were spent in 221B.

Getting whipped cream off of god knows where,  
using god knows what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: thanks for reading. please leave reviews and prompt ideas!

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: i hope you enjoyed! leave me prompt ideas in the comments and more often than not, I will write your prompt as a chapter!


End file.
